


Big Empty

by Heather_Night



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Hurt Stiles, Kissing, M/M, Nemeton, POV Derek, Possession, Post-Season/Series 03A, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-13 02:17:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7958464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heather_Night/pseuds/Heather_Night
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is taking a break from Beacon Hills when Deaton asks him for a favor--to shelter Stiles for a while.  Derek, bored with the pace of life, agrees and things will never be the same again.  Not for Derek, Stiles nor Beacon Hills.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Big Empty

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go with another offering for my Hurt/Comfort Bingo card. Most of this story was written between Seasons 3A and 3B so we'll call it canon compliant through A. If you like your Derek protective and don't mind a chaste build (underage Stiles on board) then this one is for you. Oh, and a bit of a gory injury although I think it's comparable with what show throws at us.

Big Empty

 

_‘Too much walking shoes worn thin_  
_Too much trippin' and my soul's worn thin’_

_\- Big Empty_ by Stone Temple Pilots

 

Derek wasn’t sure what to expect. As usual, Deaton had been less than forthcoming with information.

Pulling onto the inner lane leading to the lower-arrivals level for Terminal 3, Derek barely missed the gray BMW that swerved in front of him. He hated Los Angeles and he hated LAX but if things went according to plan he would be on his way back to the little place on the beach in Ventura he was renting in a matter of minutes. 

Gaze sweeping the exit area, Derek immediately spotted the gangly teen leaning against a support beam. Stiles had a baseball cap jammed over his head, dark sunglasses hiding his eyes, shoulders slumped. Despite his attempt at traveling incognito, it was still unmistakably Stiles.

Pulling the car over, Derek put the Toyota in park and flashed his headlights. Stiles straightened, ambling toward the SUV, backpack slung haphazardly over his left shoulder. 

Stiles flashed a subdued smile at Derek before climbing in and pulling the belt over, quickly buckling up. “Um, thanks. For picking me up. And letting me stay. I’ll try not to get in your way.”

No spazzing or flailing. No mention of Derek having traded in the Camaro for a Toyota FJ Cruiser; no werewolf soccer mom jokes. That was perhaps the most succinct Stiles had ever been within Derek’s hearing. The scent Stiles was giving off was confusing to Derek—exhaustion was the primary essence with hints of gratitude and fear. 

Fear. Stiles was usually pretty fearless. _Disturbingly fearless._ The memory of Stiles shattering a baseball bat over the conjoined Alpha twins at Beacon Hills Hospital in an attempt to protect Cora and Scott—and Derek, too, which still amazed him—instead of running to safety still gave him nightmares. And impressed the hell out of him. 

“No problem. I’ll have you back to the rental in under 90 minutes.” Derek was completely curious about why Stiles had to leave Beacon Hills but he turned his attention to the crazy traffic.

Once he was on the 405, Derek glanced at his passenger. Stiles had removed his baseball cap—the Mets, which made Derek grimace since it wasn’t even a team from California and everyone knew the Yankees represented New York better—and the side of his face was pressed against the window. The sunglasses were still on but Derek could see a bruise darkening the skin around the outer edge of the left eye. Stiles’s arms lay limply in his lap, fingers occasionally flexing, long sleeve shirt rucked up just enough on the left arm to expose heavy marks around his left wrist.

Despite the twitching, the kid was out for the count otherwise Derek would be demanding some answers. What the hell had Deaton gotten him involved in? Sure, the one time Hale Emissary had said Stiles needed a safe place to stay but it hadn’t really occurred to Derek that there had been a physical altercation. Not between BFFs Scott and Stiles at least. 

Since his passenger wasn’t going to satisfy his curiosity, Derek took a moment to think about how he’d allowed himself to be pulled back into the Beacon Hills drama.

Out of the blue Deaton had called Derek and asked him to shelter Stiles. The vet had asked if the teen could stay with him for just a day or two. Deaton was his usual reticent self which meant Derek didn’t know exactly what was going on, only that there had been some sort of falling out between Scott and Stiles and the nosy, and noisy, human needed a safe place to stay for a couple of days.

Shockingly, Derek had agreed.

Okay, maybe the reason he’d agreed wasn’t so hard to figure out. Cora, completely healed and chomping at the bit for action, had left the week before to visit with friends. There were no Alphas inspiring fight or flight. No Darach trying to seduce him to the Dark Side. No crazy uncle whispering in his ear. No pack politics. No Banshee screaming in his ears. Derek finally had a chance to kick back and relax. Catch his breath.

Except the quiet Derek had craved was more like a punishment than a reward; he was bored. 

Everyone knew Stiles never shut up. When he wasn’t talking he was fidgeting and twitching. Boredom would be the least of Derek’s problems while the teen crashed at his place. He wouldn’t exactly say he was looking forward to it but it would break up the monotony of his days. Besides, Stiles wasn’t really so bad. Not for a human. Not once you were used to him. 

The kid was mouthy but he was loyal and clever. He’d gotten Derek into trouble but he’d also gotten him out of it on more than one occasion. 

The rest of the ride was spent in silence. Derek breathed a sigh of relief—they hadn’t been hit and he hadn’t witnessed any road rage so he considered it a successful trip—as he guided the Toyota into the parking area across from a three story yellow building. The guy in the top unit was hardly ever home and the guy on the second floor was overly friendly but Derek had shut down his overtures so he left him alone. The first floor, a one bedroom with a crystal doorknob that turned brilliant colors in the sunlight, was where he currently paid rent.

As he turned off the ignition, Derek turned to his passenger. Stiles was awake, staring into the distance, blinking slowly. The palm of his right hand rested against his chest. It made the teen seem exceedingly vulnerable and Derek fought his impulse to touch him and check for more injuries. 

“Are you ready to go in?” Derek asked softly. Stiles turned stiffly so he was facing Derek, his expression blank, nodding his head in agreement. The Mets cap got stuffed into the backpack as Stiles opened his door and dropped to the ground.

Derek found himself cupping Stiles’s elbow after he tripped for the second time on the smooth paved road they crossed to get to the apartment. Stiles continued to stumble despite the even surfaced sidewalk that led through the gate and turned to the left into the backyard. 

Derek helped Stiles up the one step into the apartment before depositing him gently on the floral print couch. “Kitchen is through there, help yourself to anything you find. Bathroom is around that corner. You’ll be staying on the couch. I’m in the bedroom next to the bathroom.” 

Stiles’s stomach growled but he seemed unaware as he thanked Derek for letting him stay there, again, in a subdued voice. The sunglasses followed the Mets cap into what seemed to be a bottomless backpack. 

“Are you hungry?” Derek wasn’t running a bed and breakfast here, hadn’t planned on waiting on Stiles, but something was off kilter and offering the younger man basic necessities, like food, seemed the thing to do.

Stiles shook his head no, wincing at the movement. Despite the gloom of the living room, courtesy of the blinds Derek kept drawn to keep visitors at bay, Stiles squinted as though in pain. His stomach gave a growl that the teen steadfastly ignored.

When Stiles made no other moves, Derek decided to take charge. “Grab the remote and turn on the TV. The Dodgers game is about to start.”

Once Derek was assured that the TV was on, he went into the kitchen to fix some grilled cheese sandwiches. 

The theme song from Cops began to play and Derek heard Stiles fumble his phone out of his backpack. He hadn’t planned on listening to the conversation but his hearing was so acute he couldn’t ignore it. 

“Hi, Dad. I got here safe and sound.”

“Stiles,” the sheriff managed to infuse his voice with exasperation and worry, “I thought you were going to call me as soon as you landed which was supposed to be over two hours ago.” Derek always thought of the sheriff as being stoic but he was being almost gentle with Stiles. So Derek wasn’t the only one who could see something was wrong.

“Sorry, I fell asleep in the car.” Stiles’s tone was meek. Stiles and meek. Never thought the two words would ever end up in the same sentence.

Derek pulled one of the sandwiches out of the skillet. It wasn’t blisteringly hot so he took a bite, still listening to the conversation in the other room.

“Well you definitely needed the sleep. Is everything okay there?” Derek snorted at the sheriff’s tact; the implied question being _are you really okay staying with the guy you once accused of murder?_

Munching steadily, Derek listened for Stiles’s response. 

Stiles let out an exasperated sigh. It was the first time since Derek had picked him up that the teen sounded like himself. “Dad, I told you I’m fine. Derek’s a good guy. He’s been really cool to me and he’s got a great place here by the beach.” There was a slight pause before he finished with, “I trust him.”

Did Stiles just stick up for him? It had been a long time since anyone had done that for him. Peter, when they were kids. Laura, before Peter killed her.

It was the sheriff who let out a sigh this time. Derek could definitely see where Stiles got some of his mannerisms. “Well I’d like to talk to him for a moment. Can you put him on the line?”

Derek swallowed the last bite of the sandwich hastily. Wow, Derek hadn’t seen that request coming. It was something his parents would’ve done, had done, when he was a kid. Setting the spatula down, Derek was conflicted. Should he talk to the sheriff? Derek knew wasn’t exactly the most reassuring person around. 

Before he could make a decision, Stiles was making it for him. “Dad, no. He’s busy in the other room. I’m not going to bother him. Now you stay away from the diner food. I’ll call you tomorrow evening like we agreed. Love you. Bye.”

Derek plated the remaining sandwich, grabbed a bottled water out of the fridge and wiped the smile off his face before he returned to the living room.

“Here, eat.” Shoving the plate and water into Stiles’s hands, Derek sank onto the couch. It might look like crap but it was comfortable.

Mouth gaping open, Stiles shot Derek a confused look before snapping his mouth shut, setting the bottle on the floor and balancing the plate on his lap. 

Grabbing the remote, Derek turned the volume up a little so he could hear Vin Scully announce the game but not enough to hurt Stiles’s head. His peripheral vision showed Stiles nibbling at the grilled cheese without enthusiasm. Stiles finished half of the sandwich before setting the plate on the floor and picking up the water. 

As the game limped into the seventh inning stretch, the Dodgers beating the Cubs easily, Derek noticed Stiles kept looking toward the windows on the north wall. The windows faced the sidewalk so those blinds were completely shut yet that didn’t deter Stiles from looking that way or frowning.

By the eighth inning Stiles had abandoned any attempt at watching the game. He grabbed his backpack before collecting his plate with half a sandwich and water then heading into the kitchen. 

The water ran in the sink and it sounded like Stiles was washing the skillet and putting his leftovers in the fridge. Someone had drummed some manners into the kid, which was unexpected but appreciated. 

“Is it okay if I shower?” Stile’s voice was tentative as he stood in the hallway. 

Derek wasn’t sure what to do with this Stiles. The lack of sarcasm, the lack of talking, was unsettling. “I left a towel on the sink for you.”

Stiles moved to the bathroom and soon the shower with its crappy water pressure was turned on. Derek was all for conservation but the low-flow showerhead wasn’t conducive to a pleasant shower. After the water cut off the sounds of Stiles brushing his teeth could be heard.

The teen emerged barefoot, clad in sweats and a t-shirt. The shower certainly hadn’t refreshed him as the purple smudges beneath his eyes warred for vibrancy with the black eye. The split lip, smudges around both wrists and slumped shoulders only added to the air of fragility surrounding Stiles. 

The last out of the game was recorded as his guest returned to the couch. Derek was going to ask Stiles if he was in pain but the teen’s body language, arms tight across his chest and mouth set in a straight line, deterred him.

Derek went into the kitchen and heated a microwave meal to take the edge off his hunger. He’d wanted to make hamburgers but the yawns from the living room told him Stiles wouldn’t be awake much longer. Maybe tomorrow.

-TW-

Derek stretched awake, smiling. He felt rested in a way he hadn’t since Cora left to visit her friends last week. He always felt better when he was surrounded by pack.

Stiles was here and Derek was rested, ergo Stiles was pack. 

Huh.

There had to be a flaw in that thinking but Derek shook the thought off, not wanting to dwell too hard on it. Derek decided he was in the mood to go out for breakfast if his guest was feeling up to it.

The sounds of Stiles brushing his teeth vigorously could be heard through the thin yellow wall. When Stiles padded back out into the living room, Derek rushed through his morning bathroom routine before throwing on jeans, a t-shirt and shoes.

Entering the living room, Derek found Stiles sitting on the floral couch, frowning at this phone. “I’m in the mood for breakfast at this little café down town.”

Startled, Stiles did one of those full body flinches that always made Derek want to laugh. The phone flew out of his hand but Derek easily plucked it out of the air and handed it back before it could damage anything like the TV.

Stiles took the phone back, grimacing. “Um, thanks.” He cleared his throat. “So, um, enjoy your breakfast?”

“You’re invited, too, doofus. Unless you’re not supposed to be seen out?” Derek was sure Deaton would’ve mentioned it but the look on Stiles’s face, scrunched up in confusion, made him doubt himself. 

“No, I mean, yeah. We can go out. I mean, not that you’re asking me out _out_. Ugh.” Stiles punctuated the last word by dropping his head into his hands.

This time Derek didn’t suppress his chuckle. Maybe Stiles was starting to feel better. He was more animated than he had been yesterday. The brain to mouth filter also seemed to be off which was the norm. “So breakfast. Let me grab my keys and let’s go.”

Stiles shoved his phone into his backpack while a bit of color, Cora would call it a blush, fanned across his cheekbones. Cheekbones that were a little more prominent than was healthy. 

Derek checked to make sure he had his wallet, scooped the Toyota’s keys up from the top of the TV, and opened the door for his guest. When Stiles hesitated Derek followed his line of sight to land on the backpack. “You want to grab your phone?”

Stiles shoved his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie. “No need. I don’t have to check in with my dad until this evening.”

He’d never seen any of the teens back home without a phone surgically attached to an ear or their fingers but Derek let it drop. Maybe if he was patient then Stiles would share what the hell was going on back in Beacon Hills.

Traffic was never really light on this part of town but it didn’t take long to get to Main Street. Derek found a parking place and soon they were being seated in a back booth of Pete’s Breakfast House. 

“I’ll get you some menus and coffee and then your server will be over.” The thin, deeply tanned blond detoured to the counter to get the carafe. 

“So what do you usually get here?” It was Stiles’s second unsolicited overture—he’d asked if it was okay to shower the night before—and Derek took it as a personal victory. The teen was starting to act like himself again.

Derek flipped his coffee cup over as the blond made her way over, filling first his cup and then Stiles’s. She departed, leaving the menus on the table. “I like the omelets a lot. Today I think I’m going to have a Denver Omelet.”

Stiles flipped through the menu but when Derek glanced at him, he was looking out the window on the north side of the building although his eyes weren’t tracking anything. He was lost in thought. At least he didn’t smell scared.

An older woman, maybe mid 50s with dyed dark hair and overly dark eyebrows, popped some gum while approaching the table. It was Angela, Derek’s favorite waitress. 

“Hey cutie,” Angela shot Derek a full smile so that he could see her teeth were stained with the bright pink lipstick she favored, “I see you brought me some fresh meat.”

Stiles’s attention shifted to the waitress and he flashed a rather anemic smile. Her dark eyebrows climbed up her forehead when she saw the bruising on Stiles’s face but she didn’t say anything. “What can I get you boys this morning?”

Derek ordered his omelet and waited for Stiles to place his. Unfortunately silence greeted Angela’s prompt. 

“Stiles? Do you need some more time to decide?” Derek gently asked, not liking the trapped expression on Stiles’s face. What Cora called his Bambi eyes—big, brown and expressive—were huge in his pale face and he looked ready to bolt. 

Angela popped her gum loudly, which made Stiles jump on the bench seat. “How’s about I surprise you.” It wasn’t really a question and she hustled away, gum cracking with each step, before anyone could comment.

Stiles looked relieved that his breakfast order had been settled without his input. What the hell was going on back home that had traumatized the usually talkative and outgoing youth?

Derek cleared his throat, not sure how to proceed. “Stiles—”

“Could we maybe do this later, when we’re not in public? I know I owe you some answers but please, not here.” Stiles sighed, dumping a packet of sugar into his coffee.

The snapping of bubblegum preceded Angela’s appearance. She plunked down a tall glass in front of Stiles, pushing his coffee into the middle of the table. “Fresh squeezed orange juice. On the house.”

Angela had always displayed a maternal air, especially around Cora, and it was apparent she felt the same about Stiles. Derek was amused by the way she’d moved the high caffeine, high sugar coffee away from the boy and replaced it with something healthy. 

Stiles took a sip from the straw. His eyes crinkled in pleasure. “This is great. Thank you!” he called to Angela’s back as she zipped toward the kitchen.

“So how long have you been in Ventura?” Stiles asked before wrapping his pouty lips around the straw and taking a strong pull.

Derek had to adjust himself in his jeans discretely while taking a sip of his black coffee. He’d always known Stiles was attractive, the whole pack was ridiculously attractive, but this was the first time he’d physically reacted. 

Ignoring the way Stiles kept the straw in his mouth, slowly sucking, Derek took a moment to think about it before he finally answered. “This is the fifth place we’ve stopped in. We’ve been here three weeks which is the longest so far.” 

“Wow, I don’t know whether to be jealous or not. I mean, it must be nice traveling around, seeing new things, but don’t you miss home? Oh. Or maybe Beacon Hills isn’t home anymore.” Stiles was way too perceptive. Derek was sick of moving around so much but both he and Cora had needed a break from the turmoil. They needed to feel safe which was something the sleepy northern California town no longer provided for them.

Stiles filled the silence again, letting that topic drop. “So how is Cora doing?”

Launching into a description of Cora’s current antics with her friends, Derek barely paid attention to what he was saying. He was still flummoxed over his physical response to Stiles. He’d rather think on that than his feelings about moving around so much.

Derek had always been drawn to feisty yet vulnerable people. Paige had been a bit sickly, always fighting off cold after cold, so weakened sometimes that Derek had carted her cello around for her. Kate, near the beginning, had a badly sprained wrist and the need for Derek to help her had been too strong to ignore. Derek had saved Jennifer at the school when Cora and Boyd had been under the influence of the full moon.

Now there was Stiles. Bruised and in some sort of danger and every bit as pretty as the women he’d had, or tried to have, relationships with in the past. Not that he’d tell Stiles he was pretty. Or vulnerable. 

Or even have a separate relationship with him outside of the pack.

A pack he no longer belonged to.

Shit. Life was complicated.

Angela was back, bearing their food. “Here’s your omelet, doll-face. And here’s a Pancake Roll for your friend.”

A large pancake was rolled up in the middle of the plate with blueberries, strawberries and granola sprinkled atop it. 

Stiles’s eyes almost bugged out of his head as he stared at the massive plate full of food. “Holy Cr--, I mean Cow, that’s like, wow, a lot of food.”

Angela bestowed one of her natural smiles on Stiles, her lips turned up and nothing flirtatious about it. “It’s a huge pancake rolled with yogurt, fresh seasonal fruit and homemade granola. You’re looking a little too lean and this ought to fix you up. And if you can’t finish it, I think this big boy here can help you out. Now eat up!” Angela exclaimed before moving to the next booth.

The waitress was definitely right, Stiles was too thin. He was sure it had something to do with whatever was happening in Beacon Hills and eventually he’d get the story.

The scraping of forks was punctuated by the slurping of liquids but conversation ceased as they dug into breakfast. Derek cleaned the last dollop of cheese from where it had oozed out of his omelet before checking on Stiles’s progress.

Half of the pancake roll was gone and Stiles had an arm folded protectively over his stomach. “I can’t eat anymore or I’m going to explode.”

Derek pulled a quote from the long ago comedy skit easily to mind. “And finally, monsieur, a wafer-thin mint. It’s only a tiny little thin one.” 

He didn’t want to see Stiles explode but his words definitely recalled Monty Python to mind. Maybe he could stump Stiles who was always dropping cultural references into the conversation.

“No way. You did not just quote Monty Python to me. I love Mr. Creosote!” Stiles was animated as he stared at Derek with something akin to awe. It didn’t really surprise Derek that the younger man was familiar with the skit. Stiles’s interests seemed eclectic and the fact that the character exploded on screen when eating too much would appeal to the teenage boy.

Derek smiled at Stiles’s enthusiastic response. “I have _Life of Brian_ on DVD. Maybe we can watch it later.”

Stiles pushed his plate into the middle of the table and nodded at it. “Help yourself. And that would be awesome.”

The relaxed smile gracing Stiles’s face was better than the tasty pancake concoction Derek forked into his mouth. 

Angela hummed her approval at Derek’s attempt to clean the plate when she dropped off the check. 

Stiles reached for his wallet but Derek ignored him. “I’ve got this one.” 

The younger man didn’t argue, instead murmuring a soft thank you. 

Angela waved at them as the blond at the front door rang them up. “Please give the change to Angela,” Derek requested. It was a hefty tip for what they’d eaten but Stiles was much more relaxed now then when they’d arrived and Derek felt some of that was owing to Angela. 

Derek herded Stiles toward the car as they stepped onto the sunbaked sidewalk. The Santa Ana winds were blowing, making the air fairly crackle with electricity.

“The Santa Ana winds,” Stiles said as if reading Derek’s mind. “I wrote a paper on them last year,” Stiles mentioned as he climbed into the SUV. 

At Derek’s raised eyebrow, Stiles expanded on his topic. “As the cool, dense air from the desert blows out toward the coast, it tends to channel down the valleys and canyons and through the major mountain passes. Gusts can attain hurricane force at times. As it descends, the air not only becomes drier, but also warms adiabatically, that’s a process that occurs without the transfer of heat or matter between a system and its surroundings, by compression. Anyway, the southern California coastal region gets some of its hottest weather of the year during autumn while Santa Ana winds are blowing. During Santa Ana conditions it is typically hotter along the coast than in the deserts. Weird, but true.”

Stiles delivered his summary without taking a breath. It was really impressive. It also meant that Stiles was no longer a pod person. Derek had actually missed his stream of consciousness ramblings. That was weirder than the fact the coast could be warmer than the desert. 

Derek pulled into his spot across from the apartment. “You want to walk out to the jetty? It’ll probably be a bit cooler on the water.”

Stiles agreed. “I haven’t seen the ocean other than from the plane. That would be great. Although we’re not going swimming, right?”

Some of the nervous energy was transparent as Stiles wrapped an arm around his middle. Were there more bruises, or worse, covered by the clothing? 

“Nah. Believe it or not, it’s too cool to swim. Maybe this afternoon the sun will burn off the fog,” Derek responded easily. Downtown the sun had shown fiercely but at the beach it was more common to have fog at this time of year.

They quietly meandered down the lane, marching up the stone steps to spill out on to the beach. Derek steered them toward the jetty, a long outcropping of rock, watching the waves break over the tip, flinging water into the air.

“It’s beautiful here.” Stiles paused, watching the waves.

“I like to fall asleep to the pounding of the waves. Sometimes you can hear the seals bark, too.” Derek glanced toward Stiles, pleased that the younger man appreciated Derek’s favorite spot. “Come on, let’s hike out on to the jetty.”

Stiles seemed skeptical but he followed anyway. Derek tried to assuage his concerns, “Unless you get too close to the edge, you’ll be fine.”

In deference to Stiles’s healing body, Derek slowly picked his way out toward the end of the rock.

Perching his butt against the slope of a rock, he stared across the water.

Stiles seemed content to follow suit, basking in the therapeutic pounding of the waves against rock.

After about five minutes, Stiles spoke. “So the thing that happened in Beacon Hills. Deaton said it’s the Nemeton influencing us. Me, Allison and Scott. For what we did to find our parents when the Darach…yeah…anyway. The Nemeton. It’s screwing with our minds. The darkness around our hearts. Scott didn’t mean to do it. He was hallucinating. Or something. Thought I was…someone else. My dad thought I should get out of town for a while and asked Deaton to help.”

It was something. Not a whole lot though. Derek opened his mouth to ask Stiles more about the hallucinations, like if Stiles suffered from them too, when the younger man let out a sharp yelp and jumped into the air.

Derek’s heart began to pound loudly in his ears as his fangs and claws dropped and his ears grew into points. 

Something had threatened Stiles and Derek had to protect him.

“Look!” Stiles squeaked, pointing toward his feet, as he scrambled closer to Derek.

Without making a conscious decision, Derek’s arm curled around Stiles and pulled him tightly against his side. He peered down to see a hermit crab scuttle under the rocks.

Face and hands quickly returned to his human form as Derek let the laugh in his throat bubble up and out of his mouth. “That, Stiles, is a hermit crab. And I would say you probably scared it a lot more than it scared you.”

Derek waited for a self-deprecating comment or laughter or even a snort but nothing was forthcoming. Stiles huddled against his side, his breath heaving in and out in jerks.

Drawing Stiles forward, Derek maneuvered him until they were chest to chest and his arms were wrapped tightly around the younger man. In reality they were about the same height but Stiles somehow seemed smaller. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

Stiles hooked his chin over Derek’s shoulder and shuddered. Cradling the body even closer, Derek rested the side of his face against the softness of Stiles’s hair while he ran his hands soothingly up and down his spine.

When Stiles relaxed against him, Derek made himself put some distance between them by shuffling to the side. “What do you say we head back to my place? I need to see if I have enough charcoal for the grill. I’m going to make cheeseburgers for dinner.”

Derek didn’t force the issue, didn’t make Stiles look at him, and didn’t mention the hermit crab. Instead he grabbed Stiles’s wrist carefully and tugged him back toward shore.

It was nice having Stiles around despite his initial misgivings and Derek was determined to enjoy the day. 

They could talk more later.

-TW-

Derek sat up in bed, his senses on alert. An out of place noise from the living room had awakened him.

Stiles had fallen asleep on the couch early after a day spent outdoors so Derek had turned in early, too. It felt like he’d just fallen asleep when something pinged his werewolf senses.

Straining, Derek listened. The out of place noise finally sunk in—it was absolutely quiet. No breathing or tossing and turning or mumbling. No heartbeat galloping along at a faster clip even when at rest which Derek knew was normal for the teen.

Stiles was gone.

Derek smoothly rolled off the bed and opened the bedroom door. He didn’t smell anything out of place so at least no one had kidnapped the teen in his care.

Derek flicked lights on as he moved toward the living room. He took in the disheveled blanket and pillow on the couch before spotting the front door ajar.

Darting out the front door, Derek quickly scented Stiles and moved in that direction. The path took him down the lane, up the stairwell and onto to the beach. The light of the waxing gibbous moon was strong enough to illuminate Stiles as he stumbled north along the sand.

He wanted to call out, ask Stiles what the hell he was doing, but he didn’t know if the beachfront houses were empty and he didn’t want to bring any attention to the situation. Instead Derek sprinted down the beach.

Stiles should’ve heard him coming, the churning of the sand under Derek’s feet audible despite his werewolf stealth, but the teen doggedly moved away. 

“Stiles,” Derek hissed when he was ten feet away. “Stop!”

His words garnered no response so Derek was forced to charge in front of the teen, planting his feet and putting a hand on Stiles’s chest to stop the forward motion.

Stiles blinked but he weakly pressed on, shaking off Derek’s hand but running into his body.

“Can’t you hear it? It’s calling me back. Gotta go,” Stiles mumbled. 

The words startled Derek and Stiles brushed by him. 

“Stiles, wait! Where are you going?”

His question went ignored so Derek trailed behind, observing Stiles’s unsteady progress, until the beach curved inward and the teen plowed into the wet sand. On his present trajectory, Stiles would end up in the water and he was showing no signs of slowing down.

Words seemed to have no effect so Derek lunged from behind, hooking his arms around Stile’s ribcage before swinging him off the ground. He spun them sideways, out of the water, and took a few steps before lowering the teen’s weight to the sand.

Derek had expected a struggle, Stiles was so intent on his bizarre journey, but instead the body in his arms folded downward. Easily compensating for the slight weight, Derek transferred Stiles into the crook of his left arm so he could get a look at his face. Eyes closed, mouth slack, Stiles trembled in Derek’s hold. 

Now that they had ceased movement, Derek became aware of Stiles’s heartbeat. It’s not like he made a habit of paying attention to it but it was hard to ignore; it always made the usual lub-dub sound albeit at a faster pace, and much louder, than most humans. 

This time Derek heard a different sound: ta-lub-dub.

Derek was no cardiologist, didn’t even play one on a TV, but he knew the extra sound was a bad development.

Undecided if he should take Stiles directly to a hospital or back to the rental unit, Derek gathered Stiles to his chest, one arm beneath the crook of bended knees and the other braced along his back. 

Maybe Stiles had just been sleepwalking, as if somnambulism wasn’t worrying enough, but they never caught that kind of break so it was more likely he was under the influence of something supernatural. Derek opted to take the younger man back to beach house and call Deaton.

The return trip was completed in silence save Derek’s muted footfalls across the sand. He picked up his pace as they neared the apartment. Stiles was much too still in his arms as Derek shouldered into his place, his foot kicking the door closed with a resounding snap.

Bypassing the living room, Derek carried Stiles into the bedroom, laying the young man carefully on top of his bed. Derek noted how chilled Stiles’s skin was and tugged the coverlet over him before grabbing his cell phone from the nightstand.

It was midnight but Deaton still answered on the first ring. “Derek. What’s wrong?”

Derek could’ve collapsed; his relief was so acute that the druid was on the line. “Stiles was sleepwalking. He said _it,_ ” Derek made sure to emphasis the word, “was calling him back. It was like Stiles was in a trance. I stopped him and he collapsed and now his heart is wrong.”

“Can you tell me exactly what Stiles said, and where he was headed, when he was in his trance?” The older man’s voice had an edge to it that Derek wasn’t accustomed to hearing. Apparently some things, like sick teens, could get under his skin. 

“North, he was headed north along the beach.” Northward, where he tended to stare. “Stiles asked if I could hear it. He told me it was calling him back and he had to go. What the hell is going on? What’s wrong with Stiles?” Derek always sounded angry when he was scared and he was definitely abrupt and hostile now. 

Stiles was in his care and he was not okay. It was Derek’s job to make him okay. 

“I think the Nemeton is calling Stiles back to Beacon Hills and unless he comes back, the stress on his body will be too much. If I book a ticket can you take him back to the airport?” Deaton had regained his usual calm demeanor and Derek wanted to punch him in the face for it.

“No. There’s no way they’ll let Stiles fly in his current condition. He’s unconscious. What if I drive him?” Derek didn’t want to go back to Beacon Hills. Not yet. 

Stiles couldn’t wait though.

Deaton sighed. “That’s a six hour drive. Are you willing to do that, Derek?”

“If you’re sure Stiles doesn’t belong in a hospital then we’ll leave now.” He was already making a mental list of what he needed to grab.

“I think bringing him back would be for the best. Please call when you’re close to the city limits.” The call disconnected. Stupid druids and their vague instructions.

Derek grabbed a bag and shoved some clothing in it along with some toiletries and a book. He took it and Stiles’s backpack out to the Toyota before pulling the vehicle as close as he could to the sidewalk leading back to the apartment.

Leaving the SUV running, Derek bolted back into the apartment. He found Stiles in the exact same position as when he’d left the room, arms lax and resting next to his head, sandy bare feet sprawled against the floor. Derek wrapped Stiles in the coverlet before scooping him back up. He flicked lights off as he moved through the apartment. Snagging the pillow on the couch, Derek exited the place quickly.

Sure, Derek had given some thought to returning to Beacon Hills but a lot of things, none of them good except getting Cora back, had happened there. 

Another problem was that he’d be going into another Alpha’s territory.

Scott.

The werewolf responsible for injuring the very human Stiles, hallucinations or not.

Scott, who was a True Alpha, and had shown remarkable maturity when dealing with Deucalion.

It took some work to get Stiles, all gangly limbs that refused to cooperate, settled into the passenger seat. The backseat might’ve been more comfortable for the young man but Derek needed to keep an eye on Stiles. 

After climbing into the driver’s seat, Derek reached over and adjusted the pillow between Stiles’s head and the passenger window. The teen was situated as comfortably as Derek could make him so he belted up and turned the SUV around.

He might not be ready to return to Beacon Hills but, ready or not, that’s what was happening.

-TW-

Derek made the drive in record time, somehow eluding a speeding ticket. He’d thought about swinging through a drive through to get something—coffee or water maybe—for Stiles but the boy never stirred. He left the radio off because he didn’t want anything to interfere with monitoring Stiles’s status, especially his heart. 

It seemed to take forever. Derek’s head hurt and his low back ached. Finally they hit the outskirts of Beacon Hills. He grabbed his cell phone and hit redial.

The smooth voice of Deaton greeted him. “Derek, please take Stiles to the animal clinic. I’ll meet you there.”

Before Derek could respond, he heard a slight struggle on Deaton’s end. A new voice came on the line. “Derek. Take Stiles to Beacon Hills Memorial.”

Derek knew that voice. The sheriff’s tone was steely. 

Derek remembered being in the interrogation room, the older man questioning him in a no-nonsense style that conveyed he meant business. Sheriff Stilinski would’ve made a good Alpha. He also had the power to make Derek’s life very difficult.

“Of course, sir. We’ll be there in ten minutes.” Derek disconnected, dumped his phone in the cup holder, and glanced toward Stiles. The teen was pushing himself upright, fisting at his eyes. He wasn’t speaking but the movement was definitely progress.

Derek reached over and lightly squeezed Stiles’s shoulder. “Hang in there, your dad is meeting us in a few minutes.”

Stiles bobbed his head groggily before slumping against the passenger seat window again.

Guiding the Toyota toward the ER entrance, Derek barely had a chance to put the vehicle in park before the sheriff was there. The man was casually clad in jeans and a windbreaker, obviously off duty, as he whipped the passenger door open.

Derek undid his seatbelt before exiting the SUV and running around to help with Stiles. He was ready to scoop the sick young man into his arms before a gurney was rushing to them, Melissa McCall shouting out orders.

The sheriff was whispering to Stiles, cupping his face, petting his hair. He wasn’t panicked but he wasn’t going to cede his space next to his son to anyone. Not without a fight. 

Derek carefully pulled the older man to the side, which earned him a quick smile of gratitude from Melissa McCall. He expected the sheriff to shake off his touch but the man watched Stiles with unblinking pale blue eyes while he murmured his thanks to Derek.

It seemed to come as no surprise to anyone present when Scott came sprinting over from the parking lot. “How is Stiles? What’s wrong with him? Why is he,” pointing toward Derek, “here?”

Melissa McCall seemed to draw on patience with a soft sigh before addressing her son, “Scott, honey, we don’t know what’s wrong. But we’ll find out.” She busied herself with her patient, barking out more orders to the crew she had with her.

Sheriff Stilinski turned toward Stiles’s best friend but his attention remained on his son. “Scott, you can wait with us for news.” 

Wait, did the sheriff just say us? Derek’s mouth hung open for a moment before he snapped it shut. He had planned on hanging around, unobtrusively, for word. It sounded like he was being asked to stay with Stiles’s dad.

It was Scott’s turn to look like a landed fish, mouth open, when the sheriff continued, “Derek’s here because he’s been taking care of Stiles.” 

The younger werewolf looked at Derek with confusion. They had parted on good terms but Scott couldn’t seem to make up his mind if he was happy or upset that Derek was around.

The gurney wheeled past, a pale and motionless Stiles strapped down to it. With a heartfelt sigh, the older man wrapped a hand around both Scott’s and Derek’s upper arms. He was herding them toward the entrance. “Come on, guys, let’s go inside and get some horrible coffee out of the vending machine.”

A nurse with a clipboard in hand intercepted them and guided Stiles’s dad back through the security door where the treatment cubicles were kept. Worry at not knowing what was going on with Stiles combined with the physical fatigue of driving for six hours straight to create a deep feeling of exhaustion; Derek’s legs trembled and he collapsed down on to an uncomfortable plastic chair. 

“Dude, are you all right?” Scott’s tone was tentative.

Derek wanted to snap at him, tell him not to call him dude, but instead he responded with a quiet question, “What in the hell has been going on around here?”

Guilt. Scott smelled strongly of it as he perched on a chair two down from Derek. “It’s my fault.”

Before Scott could elaborate, someone butted into the conversation. 

Isaac.

The teen smelled the same but his hair was shorter. He also carried himself with more confidence then Derek remembered. 

Derek’s instincts had been right. Isaac, with the patience of the right Alpha, was coming out of his shell.

“What is he doing here?” Isaac gritted out.

Scott put a hand on Isaac’s arm in a familiar, practiced manner. “It’s okay, Isaac. Derek’s been taking care of Stiles.”

“Not doing such a bang up job of it if Stiles is here at the hospital,” Isaac stated, sinking into a chair across from Scott and folding his arms over his chest.

Isaac was holding a grudge against him. Derek really couldn’t blame him. In an attempt to keep Isaac safe, Derek had kicked him out of the loft apartment. Granted, Isaac didn’t have anywhere else to stay and it hadn’t really kept him safe. Derek had been a shitty Alpha and could easily admit that to himself. 

That didn’t mean Derek was ready to admit it to anyone else. He could, however, let Scott know what was going on with his best friend. “Deaton asked if Stiles could stay with me for a couple of days, that he needed a safe place away from Beacon Hills.” 

Scott winced. 

Derek ignored it, continuing, “Stiles arrived, bruised and quiet, but he eventually told me that the Nemeton had caused you to hallucinate and you’d mistaken him for someone else. Scott,” Derek ignored the urge to refer to him as dude, “Stiles doesn’t blame you for what happened.”

Scott brushed the back of his hand across his forehead. If Derek had been drawing a cartoon he would’ve added a thought bubble with the word ‘phew’ in it. 

Isaac piped up from where he slumped in the chair with legs crossed at the ankles, arms still folded across his chest. “That doesn’t explain why Stiles is here, in the hospital.”

The hair bristled on the back of his neck but Derek ignored the belligerent teen. “Stiles started sleep walking, heading due north, and he said _it_ was calling him back. When I stopped him from walking into the water, he collapsed in my arms and I could hear his heart rhythm was off. I called Deaton, he told me to bring Stiles back, that he thought the Nemeton was doing something to him, and here we are.”

Derek let that news settle for a moment. “Now it’s your turn. What the hell happened to Stiles and what do you know you about the Nemeton?”

“What the hell do you care?” Isaac fired back, sitting up straight, his face flushing red.

“You’re not helping, Isaac,” Scott said quietly. The comment wasn’t so much from Alpha to beta, but friend to friend. It was a tact Derek had never tried and it seemed to do wonders in getting Isaac to mellow out as he relaxed back into the chair. 

Scott scrubbed his face with the palms of his hands before he continued. “I don’t know what happened but I thought,” he paused, swallowing loudly, “I thought Stiles was attacking Allison and I had to defend her.”

“It’s okay, Scott. Why don’t you go get the sheriff some coffee and I’ll finish filling Derek in.” Isaac stared until Scott gave in, shrugging, then trudged down the hallway. 

Derek expected Isaac to warn him off or threaten him but once Scott had disappeared down the hallway, Isaac frowned and began to speak again. “You have to understand, it’s not Scott’s fault. That damned tree trunk had him all screwed up.” Isaac sucked in a quick breath and let it out harshly. “They were in the back room at Deaton’s and I arrived to hear Scott telling Stiles he was a loser without friends and that he didn’t belong. Stiles was begging Scott to stop and by the time I got back there, Scott was holding Stiles down and was punching him. Scott kept saying Stiles had to pay for what he did to Allison and that Stiles was dead to him. The thing is, I was with Allison and she was just fine. I got Stiles away from Scott and Scott was pretty distraught when he realized what had happened.” 

There was plenty of blame to go around. Derek had accidentally sacrificed a virgin’s blood, Paige’s, on the altar of the Nemeton thus reawakening it. Scott really wasn’t responsible for his actions but Derek was pretty sure that it was Scott’s words, not the physical violence, which had rocked Stiles’s world. 

If the Nemeton could turn Scott against his best friend, and forced Stiles’s heart out of rhythm, it was an even bigger force to be reckoned with than Derek had suspected.

Derek longed to return to the quiet rental by the beach to the south. He refused to abandon Stiles though, at least while he was so sick.

Scott and Sheriff Stilinski arrived together. Scott held out keys to Derek. “I parked the SUV for you.”

The car. Derek had completely forgotten about it. He’d rushed inside to see how Stiles was doing and left the Toyota right in front of the ER entrance. “Thanks, Scott.” Being an Alpha hadn’t changed the thoughtful, people pleaser that was Scott.

The sheriff cleared his throat while clutching the paper cup filled with brown liquid between both hands. “They’re going to do some tests on Stiles so it’s going to be a while before he can have any visitors. Boys, I believe you have school in another hour so you best head out. You can stop after school to check on Stiles.” 

Derek rose to his feet but the sheriff stilled him with a hand on his forearm, “Derek, I’d like you to stick around if you can, Stiles wants to talk to you.”

Scott visibly drooped; Stiles hadn’t asked to speak with him. The wolf in Derek wanted to preen because Stiles wanted to see him, not his other friends. Derek’s wolf had always liked Stiles. 

The practical, human side of Derek wondered what Stiles wanted to see him for but he still wanted to assure himself with his own eyes that the teen was okay before he took off.

Scott opened his mouth to protest but the sheriff cut him off, his large hand cupping the back of Scott’s neck. “It’s all right, son. I’ll let you know if there’s any change but for now Stiles is stable. Go on, now.”

Isaac grabbed Scott’s arm, shooting Derek a disgruntled look, before drawing the other teen toward the door.

The silence was awkward between the two men even though they sat next to one another. They studiously ignored each other, the sheriff staring at his weak coffee while Derek stared at a clock on the wall. 

Derek allowed himself to doze but the light footfalls steadily approaching woke him up. A glance at the clock showed that two hours had gone by and Melissa McCall was smiling tiredly at the sheriff who had bolted to his feet. “Stiles has been settled in a private room if you want to see him. Room 312, which is on the Telemetry Unit. He’s doing pretty well, all things considered. A doctor will be in shortly to see you.”

Derek climbed to his feet, stretching, before following the sheriff to the elevators. Unless he was told differently he planned on seeing Stiles.

Hanging back, leaning against the doorjamb, Derek let Stiles and his dad greet each other. The father brushed hair back off the son’s forehead before touching his lips to the pale skin there. “Hey, Kiddo, how are you feeling?”

“I’m fine. I mean better. I’m just tired.” Stiles’s delivery was monotone. 

The scent was unmistakably Stiles but it was missing the dash of spice Derek was accustomed to smelling. His appearance, although no shocker, was all pale skin unrelieved except for the bruising on his face and wrists and the wires disappearing under his white gown. 

The sheriff dragged a chair over to the bedside and clasped one of Stiles’s hands in his own. “Just close your eyes and get some rest.”

“Wait. Is Derek here?” Stiles didn’t sound panicky but his scent carried a hint of apprehension.

“I’m right here, Stiles. Just relax.” Derek moved to the other side of the bed. When the sheriff motioned him to sit, he sunk into another uncomfortable chair although at least this one wasn’t plastic.

Sleepy eyes blinked up at Derek. “Just wanted to say thank you. You know, for letting me stay. For getting me back here.”

“You’re welcome, Stiles. Now close your eyes.” Derek was mildly stunned when the teen followed his directive. Usually Stiles fought to do what he wanted but Derek guessed this was just another sign of how poorly the young man really felt.

Stiles shifted on the bed, dark eyelashes fanned across high cheeks, frowning.

Stiles’s dad rubbed the crinkle of skin between dark eyebrows, trying to ease the strain there. “Are you in pain, Son?”

“A little.” Stiles whispered.

Without giving it much thought, Derek picked up Stiles’s other hand and watched the dark lines run into his fingers and up his arm as he drew the pain out.

“That’s amazing, Der,” Stiles slurred before dropping into what Derek hoped would be a healing sleep.

Sensing the sheriff’s stare, Derek blushed as he looked up although he didn’t relinquish his hold on Stiles. Before the man could say anything, someone approached.

“Mr. Stilinski, I’m Doctor Naveen Patel. I’m a pediatric cardiologist and I’ve been assigned to your son’s case. Could I please speak with you for a moment?” 

The man seemed competent in his manner and he smelled right so Derek turned his attention back to Stiles. He didn’t pull any of the pain he could still feel in Stiles and hoped the doctor wouldn’t stick around long so he could drain some more if it interfered with the teen’s sleep.

The sheriff moved into the hallway. “Son, I’ll be right back.” Stiles was deeply asleep and didn’t seem to hear his dad.

The men didn’t move far so Derek listened in on the conversation. Stiles seemed to be suffering from a constellation of symptoms that suggested Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. The teen had presented in the ER room with a mild arrhythmia that had since resolved; the arrhythmia wasn’t a life threatening condition but Dr. Patel wanted to further monitor and evaluate Stiles. If everything went as the doctor wished, Stiles might be discharged in two days’ time.

Stiles’s dad returned, looking relieved. The older man was on the verge of sitting down when his cell phone signaled he had a text. Glancing down, he announced quietly, “Derek, Alan Deaton would like you to come to the animal clinic for a meeting at 3. “ The older man looked up at Derek. “Apparently you’re not answering your cell phone.”

Derek wasn’t a huge fan of cell phones but he tried to keep his on him in case Cora needed him. It was presumably in the Toyota in the cup holder where he’d dropped it after getting instructions on where to take Stiles.

He didn’t particularly want to leave Stiles’s side but Derek supposed he ought to see why he’d been summoned. Grimacing, Derek checked the time and realized he’d have to leave soon. He wanted to wash up and grab a bite to eat before he met the enigmatic druid.

Looking up, he caught a half smile on the sheriff’s face. “I’ll keep an eye on the patient. Maybe you can stop by after the meeting and do that pain-drain thing again if Stiles is hurting.” So the older man had known what was going on. Derek knew Stiles had told him about werewolves but he didn’t know how much he’d shared. 

Heaving himself out of the chair, Derek found he was relieved the father and son were no longer on the outs. It had seemed to weigh on Stiles, the conflict between them, although Derek didn’t think the teen had ever said anything. At least not while Derek was within listening distance.

“I’ll be back later. Do you want me to bring you some dinner?” Stiles wouldn’t want his dad to get sick by not taking care of himself.

The older man grinned at Derek. “I would kill for a cheeseburger and fries. Just don’t tell Stiles his old man was straying from his diet.” 

“He’ll probably smell it on you,” Derek smiled back.

With one last glance at the pale boy on the bed, Derek moved into the hallway. His wolf complained, not wanting to leave Stiles, but he forged onward. 

It was time to find out what Deaton wanted.

-TW- 

After stopping at the loft and cleaning up, Derek bolted down a few sandwiches at the nearby coffee shop and then went to Deaton’s. The usual cast of characters was waiting.

Allison made eye contact and nodded a greeting. Isaac ignored him, staring at Allison’s profile. Lydia paused in her perusal of her nails long enough to say hello. Scott walked right up to Derek. “How’s Stiles?”

“The doctor said he’s stable but they’re going to monitor him. He might get released in a day or two.” Derek could’ve shared more of the information he’d overheard but he figured that was up to the sheriff, or Stiles when he woke up.

Scott pulled Derek aside. “What did Stiles want to talk to you about?”

Before Derek had a chance to decide if he wanted to tell Scott anything, Deaton interrupted the conversation. “Thank you for coming. I wanted to discuss what’s been going on in the Preserve.”

Derek shot a look at Scott. Scott shrugged, seeming unsure what the vet was talking about.

“According to the sheriff, three people have gone missing in the Preserve in the last week. They weren’t together; this is three separate instances in which people have mysteriously gone missing. The bodies are still missing but their clothing, or the remnants, was found and it was torn and singed. The Nemeton wouldn’t sacrifice people itself—“

Deaton broke off his train of thought, looking down at the floor. He was either gathering his thoughts or trying to make the most impact with a dramatic pause. He finally looked up and continued, “I think it’s something else. Something that’s gathering power. Something you need to find and destroy before it destroys Beacon Hills.”

Lydia, Allison and Scott looked concerned but Derek noticed Isaac rolling his eyes. Isaac looked away when he realized he had Derek’s attention but they both smirked. There was no doubt the druid was extremely knowledgeable but infuriating with the glacial pace with which he moved things along.

Allison was the first to speak up. “Do you have any ideas?”

Deaton was shaking his head no. “I’m going to do some research. Maybe you can check the Preserve, and the Nemeton, for clues. If you find anything let me know and I’ll do the same. Otherwise we should reconvene in two days’ time to see where we stand.”

The man withdrew, going down the hallway where Derek could hear some animals moving around. As he moved from sight, the back room broke into a cacophony of noise as everyone spoke at once.

Allison said, “I’m going to talk to my dad and then we need to set up a perimeter and patrol.”

Isaac said, “Let’s get a bite to eat, I’m starving.”

Scott said, “How could I not know this was going on in the Preserve?”

Lydia said, “I’m dropping by the hospital to see Stiles.”

Derek kept his own counsel but it was interesting that what each person said seemed to reflect his or her own interests—hunting, fulfillment of basic needs and Alpha duties. All except Lydia who seemed to have Stiles’s best interests at heart.

Was something going on between Lydia and Stiles? The petite teen was radiating concern but Derek would have to observe them together to see, and scent, if there was anything more.

On the verge of asking Lydia if she needed a ride to the hospital, Scott caught his attention. “Derek, you know the area best. Do you want to run a patrol with me?”

Derek did know the area well, he’d grown up here and used the Preserve like his own backyard play area, but he was surprised the Alpha was including him. It wasn’t like he was pack. More like pack adjacent.

“Yeah, sure, just give me a minute,” Derek responded. Once Scott was ensconced in conversation with Allison and Isaac, he caught Lydia’s eye and motioned toward the door. 

Lydia approached, flipping her long strawberry blond hair over a shoulder, her plucked brows pulled taut in concern. “What is it? Wait, this isn’t about your uncle is it?” Her nose crinkled with a sour look.

“No, I haven’t seen or heard from him since I left,” Derek replied.

“If only we were so lucky,” Lydia rolled her eyes.

Derek pressed on. “Are you going to the hospital?” At Lydia’s head nod in the affirmative he continued, “Could you bring the sheriff a burger and fries?” At her skeptical look he added, “I’ll give you money.”

“Stiles will not appreciate that you’re sneaking non approved menu items to his dad. However, I’m sure the sheriff deserves a treat.” Lydia patted his arm. “I’ll stop for food and tell Stiles you said hi.”

Heat burned across his cheeks and up his ears. “You don’t have to, um, yeah, thanks.” Derek wasn’t sure if Lydia herself turned all males into stuttering messes with her fierce attitude. He suspected it was more that she’d figured out he cared for Stiles. She couldn’t possibly know how much he cared since Derek hadn’t figured that out.

Lydia called out goodbyes before heading out. 

Derek turned his attention to Scott. “How do you want to do this?”

-TW-

It had been two days since Derek had seen Stiles and his wolf was getting anxious. 

Derek had taken turns with Scott, Isaac and the Argents, doing patrols but they hadn’t found anything of note in the Preserve. He’d received a text to be at the Stilinski’s house at 5 p.m. for a meeting but he’d arrived fifteen minutes early. He’d rather be invited here to see how Stiles was doing rather than to a meeting but he’d take what he could get, especially since another hiker had gone missing this morning.

The driveway and curb in front of the house were filled with a variety of vehicles. Derek’s mood soured; he’d wanted to spend some time with Stiles before the meeting but it looked like everyone had had the same idea and had arrived early.

Derek parked but before he could rap out a knock on the door, it was swinging open, an excited Scott in the doorway. “Derek’s here! Let’s get the meeting started.”

He let himself get tugged into the living room by Scott to see those in attendance took up every available surface. 

Scott thumped him on his shoulder, guiding him over next to the chair where Stiles was curled into the corner of it, one leg bent beneath him, his weight leaning against the arm.

Derek tried not to stare so he catalogued as much as he could with one sweeping glance. The bruising on Stiles’s face had faded but he was still incredibly pale, his moles and birthmarks standing out starkly against the white canvas of his skin. His posture was slumped, even more so than was usual for the gangly teen. Stiles might not look like he was feeling better but he smelled content and pain free and more importantly, Derek didn’t hear any missteps in his heartbeat.

Derek’s wolf relaxed as he sunk down on the floor in front of the chair, leaning back against it where Stiles’s other leg would be if he didn’t have it tucked under him.

Stiles leaned over and greeted him, “Hey, Sourwolf.” He followed the words up with a squeeze to Derek’s shoulder.

Both Derek and his wolf were pleased.

Derek looked around the room. Allison, Scott and Isaac were clustered together on the couch. Lydia lounged on a chair next to Ms. McCall who was perched on its ottoman. The sheriff and Argent were on kitchen chairs pulled to the side of Alan Deaton who was standing; all three men were staring at Derek with thoughtful looks.

Deaton walked over by the focus of the room, which was a fireplace. “Thank you everyone for coming. Let’s get right to it. First, despite patrolling the Preserve, another hiker has gone missing; this leads me to believe that the new threat is continuing to gather power. Second, you’ve been unable to find the location of the Nemeton; at the very least Scott, Allison and Stiles should be able to find it due to the connection they made to it but since that hasn’t happened, I believe it is hiding itself.”

Allison raised her hand. “How is that possible? Can it just make itself disappear?”

“I’m just hypothesizing here, but the Nemeton must view what is happening in Beacon Hills as a threat and is taking steps to protect itself.” General murmurs of concern rippled through the assembly at Deaton’s words. 

Deaton cleared his throat to gain everyone’s attention again. “As you know, tomorrow night is the full moon. There will be an additional power source amping up the area, creating the perfect environment in which to cast spells, due to a rare astronomical phenomenon. When the moon is full and Jupiter aligns with Mars—“

“Then peace will guide our planet and love will steer the stars,” Stiles, who had been noticeably quiet up to this point, interrupted in a playful voice.

The sheriff looked pained but also amused. 

Chris and Melissa sniggered. 

The druid frowned at the interruption. 

The teens shrugged, unsure of what Stiles was referencing.

A faraway memory of his mom and dad singing a song came to Derek.

A new voice from the entrance had everyone craning their necks. “Thank you, Stiles, but the moon needs to be in the Seventh House before we have the dawning of the Age of Aquarius. I’m sure the Fifth Dimension appreciates your efforts though. Now why didn’t anyone invite me to this soiree?”

Peter.

His uncle was here.

The uncle who had been incommunicado since Derek and Cora left Beacon Hills.

Derek had to give Peter his due; the man had always had impeccable timing.

Lydia recovered her composure the quickest. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I was just passing by and heard what you were discussing. I thought I’d lend my considerable talents to the proceedings.” If Peter had a mustache, he’d be twirling it like a cartoon villain.

“Creeper.” Both Lydia and Stiles commented, simultaneously.

“Listen up everybody.” Deaton was not about to let anyone steal his thunder. “We need to find the Nemeton. I think I can use it to neutralize the current threat but first we need to find it. I can boost the signal between Scott, Allison and Stiles but I need all three of them in the Preserve and we have to act quickly.”

Derek was about to veto the idea, Stiles wasn’t in any shape for tromping around the woods, when Sheriff Stilinski beat him to it. “No way. Stiles is just out of the hospital and there’s no way I’m letting him wander around the woods.”

Deaton wasn’t to be deterred. “How about if I perform the finder spell at the old Hale House and Stiles can remain there while the rest of us look for the Nemeton?”

The sheriff didn’t seem to be swayed until Derek turned his head and saw Stiles using the big doe eyes at his father.

“Fine,” the sheriff acquiesced. “But someone has to stay with Stiles the whole time. When do you want to do this?”

“Everyone, meet at the Hale House tomorrow at Noon. That will give us plenty of time to find the Nemeton before the full moon rises.” Deaton turned to the Sheriff and Argent, effectively dismissing everyone else, speaking in a quiet but measured tone.

Derek jumped to his feet, intent on talking to Peter, but his uncle was already gone.

“Derek, may I have a word with you?” Deaton asked.

Derek didn’t really want to talk to the druid but he figured it was just easier to go along with his request. 

Everyone except for Deaton, Argent and Sheriff Stilinski had cleared out. Stiles remained, curled up in the chair, eyelids blinking shut before they’d snap open to peer around the room groggily. 

Clearing his throat, Derek asked, “What did you want to talk to me about?” Left to his own devices Derek would continue to stare at the pale young man in the chair and he didn’t need to rile up the gun-toting sheriff so he forced himself to prompt the man with the answers.

“I think it would be a good idea if you stayed with Stiles tomorrow. He’s obviously very comfortable with you and I think you are best able to protect him,” the former Hale emissary stated. The fact there were so few Hales left alive today made Derek automatically want to disregard the man’s words but his wolf was pleased with the request.

Argent opened his mouth but Stiles’s father beat him to the punch. “Now wait a minute. I think I can protect my son best,” Sheriff Stilinski protested.

Deaton scratched the scruff on his chin thoughtfully. “Of course, Sheriff. For manmade threats you are the best defense. However, when it comes to a supernatural threat I think we’d do well to utilize all of our weapons and Derek here is best equipped to recognize if something is amiss and take the necessary steps to protect our most vulnerable member.”

All eyes swung to the chair where Stiles’s eyes were closed, his breathing slow and steady, his lips parted. The fact Stiles wasn’t decrying his most vulnerable status was the most telling clue about his ill state of health. 

Argent nodded. “He does have a point.”

The sheriff’s shoulders lowered along with his metaphorical hackles. “I guess you’re right.” The man turned his full attention on Derek. The intense blue eyed stare was disconcerting but Derek made himself stand, unflinching, before him. “I’m trusting you with my son’s life.”

Derek hadn’t even agreed to protect Stiles but there was no way his wolf was going to let him turn down this assignment. “I understand, sir. I’ll protect him with my life.”

 _I’ll protect him with my life_ was just a line most people used but Derek realized he meant it.

Tomorrow could be interesting.

-TW-

The sheriff pulled up in his cruiser, turning the ignition off. Derek could see Stilinski and his son talking from his perch on the front steps of his family’s former home but he tried very hard not to listen in on the conversation.

Both doors opened and closed. The sheriff wrapped his hand around Stiles’s biceps, tugging the younger man along when his feet dragged, escorting him right to Derek. The only way it would’ve resembled a lawman escorting a prisoner any more was if Stiles’s had been cuffed.

The older man made eye contact with Derek and cleared his throat. “This goes against my better judgment but I’m remanding Stiles into your custody, Derek.”

Stiles’s lips twitched into a smile. “Dad, really,” he huffed but Derek could tell he was amused even without the happy scent he was giving off.

Sheriff Stilinski placed a hand on Stiles’s shoulder and put pressure on him until he was seated on a step. “I have to go in to the station for a while so I want you to sit here and do whatever you’re told,” Stiles’s father said sternly.

Stiles opened his mouth but the sheriff cut him off. “Nope. That’s the deal. No moving around too much and you have to listen to Derek or another adult. If not I’m going to pack you back into the cruiser and take you back home.”

With a hearty sigh, Stiles subsided more comfortably on the step. “Fine.” Craning his neck around, Stiles asked. “Hey, where is everyone? I thought Deaton was going to perform his snazzy little finders spell at Noon?”

Derek pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, about that. Everyone was here early so he went ahead and started without you. He said just your presence here should be enough to boost the signal of the spell. “ Derek shrugged his shoulders. “Or something like that.”

The sheriff looked relieved. “Okay, that’s good. I’m going to head out then.” He turned his attention to his son, bopping him on the tip of his nose with his index finger. “Mind your elders now, Son. See you later.”

Snorting in amusement, Stiles rolled his eyes. “Sure thing, Pop. See you later.”

Derek settled on the step next to Stiles and they both watched as the cruiser turned around and pulled away. He turned to look at his companion, concerned at the pale skin and shadows beneath his eyes. At least Stiles’s heartbeat was steady.

The quiet, or at least Stiles being quiet, seemed unnatural. Derek poked Stiles gently in the stomach with his elbow. “So did you bring a game or something to read to keep yourself occupied for a while? I think this is going to be pretty boring for you.”

The younger man turned to scowl at Derek. Instead of laying into Derek for elbowing him, Stiles stared past Derek’s face, looking over his shoulder. Gazing into the woods.

“Earth to Stiles,” Derek quipped. When that failed to rouse a comment, Derek became concerned. “Stiles?”

Stiles’s attention drifted away from the forest to land on Derek’s face. “Did you say something?”

“I said your name,” Derek responded, unease building in the pit of his stomach.

“Yeah. No. Not that. I thought I heard something from over there,” Stiles gestured over Derek’s shoulder but the motion lacked energy. “Oh well. To answer your question, no, I didn’t bring anything with me. I’ve sort of got a headache so I thought I might just sit here and commune with nature. Or exchange barbs with you,” Stiles said, throwing a return elbow into Derek’s gut. 

It was hard to tell if Stiles was just tired—he hadn’t been out of the hospital but for a few days—or if something else was going on. Derek decided to humor him.

“I can’t imagine you ever communing with nature, at least not willingly, so barbs it is then,” Derek teased lightly. It was weird, this light flirting thing that was happening here, but Derek had always found it easy to talk to Stiles, when the kid let him get a word in edgewise that was. 

Stiles ignored the mild put-down, his attention once again somewhere behind Derek.

The teen pushed to his feet and stepped down on the ground, Derek following closely behind him. “Stiles, what do you hear?”

The finder’s spell was supposed to do just that—find the object of the spell. Stiles was simply there to contribute some energy to that of Scott and Allison as the three of them had a tie to the Nemeton. At least that’s what Derek had gotten from Deaton’s dodgy explanation. Why was Stiles acting like a canine hearing a dog whistle?

The younger man drifted across the grounds, headed into the woods. Derek stayed close behind him, pulling out his phone.

“Yes, Derek?” Deaton’s voice was mellow. It made Derek want to grind his teeth together.

“Stiles seems to hear something and he’s moving north into the Preserve. I’m following him,” Derek relayed.

“That’s…unusual,” Deaton responded.

When a doctor, even if it was a veterinarian, said something was unusual, Derek’s metaphorical hackles rose. 

“What should I do?” Derek prompted. He knew what he wanted to do—halt Stiles and take him home where he would be safe—but Stiles had agreed to help with this plan and Derek wasn’t going to botch it and make everyone, okay Stiles, mad at him.

“Please follow him and let me know if he exhibits any other strange symptoms. I’m going to have Scott and Allison move toward your position.” Deaton signed off before Derek could contribute anything more.

Strange symptoms? Following a nonexistent, at least Derek couldn’t detect it, call to enter the Preserve seemed strange enough to him.

Argh. Derek could pull his hair out in frustration but it would just grow back so it wasn’t worth it.

Stiles’s pace was picking up and it seemed at odds with the young man who previously had lounged on the steps, too tired and hurt to even read or play a video game.

Long legs encased in denim drove relentlessly onward. In addition to the jeans, Stiles was wearing a red hoodie, which made keeping track of him even easier although Derek was having no problems scenting him. 

They walked for fifteen minutes and Derek was beginning to worry about Stiles’s health. This was not what the sheriff had agreed to and Derek had every intention of returning Stiles to his father in the same condition as he’d been in when the lawman had dropped him off in Derek’s care. 

Stiles abruptly halted his progress, bending over at the waist, clutching his head. “Something’s wrong,” he moaned. “Scott and Allison…”

“Come here, let’s sit down for a minute,” Derek encouraged, wrapping his hand around Stiles’s biceps and guiding him toward a stately tree. He slid his hand into his pocket to retrieve his phone even as he guided Stiles to the ground.

Hand out to steady himself, Stiles made contact with an exposed tree root.

A wave of energy rippled through the air and Derek found himself catapulted away from Stiles.

It took a moment to shake off the rough landing but Derek bounded back to Stiles, the beta shift unleashing his claws, fangs and enhanced senses.

Stiles was propped up against the tree trunk, expression dazed. “What happen’d?”

It took a moment but Derek identified what had changed: Stiles was leaning against a sheared off tree trunk instead of the towering oak that had been there a moment ago.

“You found the Nemeton,” Derek said, crouching down next to Stiles. He took the younger man’s chin in his hand and angled it upward so he could get a look at his pupils. 

A shock passed through Derek’s fingertips upon contact and he waited for that burst of energy to unleash again but nothing more happened.

Someone materialized from the thicket of trees. Peter.

Stiles appeared too woozy to object to the other man’s presence but Derek knew Stiles didn’t care for Peter. Or more importantly, didn’t trust him.

“What are you doing here?” Derek snapped, placing himself between his uncle and the teen.

“That’s none of your business, nephew of mine. Now if you’ll please excuse me, I have business with the spark,” Peter answered but his smile was extremely vulpine despite the lack of shift.

“I don’t think so,” Derek challenged.

For the second time in a matter of minutes, Derek sailed through the air.

His uncle was a beta, too, and shouldn’t have had the energy necessary to send Derek flying.

Derek’s head cracked against a tree and it took longer than he wanted to shake it off. He was relegated to listening to his uncle’s villainous monologue as he shook off the damage.

Peter’s pedantic tone droned, “I laid a trap for the True Alpha and the Huntress and I’m draining them dry as we speak. Well, as I speak. You’re a bit too incapacitated to contribute at the moment, which is really a shame, dear Stiles. I always admired your ability to reason and defend your point of view. Unfortunately that all changes now.” 

Through squinted eyes, as Derek climbed clumsily to his feet, he saw his uncle tip his head back and loose a howl. “I am the Alpha!” 

Peter turned on Derek, the fingers on both hands curling in an invitation to approach.

His uncle’s eyes pulsed red and Derek realized his options were limited. If he wanted to live through this he needed to run.

If Derek ran, he left Stiles unprotected.

Derek had always suspected he’d die here in Beacon Hills but he’d somehow hoped he’d have a little more time. 

“No-oooo!” a strangled cry from Stiles halted Peter in his tracks for a moment but then he continued to advance on Derek.

Another wave pulsed at him and this time Derek had the good sense to crouch down and hug the ground so he wasn’t slammed about as though caught in a tornado.

Peter wasn’t so lucky. One moment he was moving toward Derek and the next he was gone.

A haze of ozone lingered in the air and as Derek pushed back to his feet, he could see scorch marks on the ground. He had a feeling Peter had been obliterated by the Nemeton.

The Nemeton that held a connection to Stiles.

Scrambling forward, Derek collapsed to his knees as he approached the tree stump and the fragile human.

Stiles looked like he was resting comfortably, splayed in the cradle of roots that had pulled from the ground. His heartbeat was regular as were his respirations and the whole scene would’ve been peaceful except for—

Derek crawled and scrambled away to vomit the contents of his stomach noisily. When he was done he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, making sure he wasn’t going to have a repeat performance.

Stiles’s left hand had been fused to the bark of the tree, its own stump of blood and bone exposed.

Something large crashed toward Stiles and Derek took up position again in front of the teen. His wolf wouldn’t have let anything get through to the younger man even if Derek felt different. Derek didn’t feel different though. Every instinct he had was screaming at him to protect Stiles.

Scott nearly ran into Derek, his features reverting back to human from his beta shift. “Where’s Stiles? It was Peter. He wants to drain us and take the power of the Nemeton and…” Scott’s voice trailed off, his horror reflected in his paling complexion, wide eyes and frantic breathing as he caught sight of his best friend. ‘Oh, no. No,” the True Alpha crooned as he sidled past Derek.

Kneeling down, Scott glanced over his shoulder at Derek. “Is he…um…did Peter do this?” He asked, lip quivering.

“Peter told Stiles he was draining you and Allison for power and when he went after me, Stiles, at least I think it was Stiles, sent a wave of power into Peter that vaporized him,” Derek explained the best he could. 

Scott reached toward his friend and it occurred to Derek that Stiles, or the Nemeton, or Stiles and the Nemeton, might vaporize anyone. “Wait! Don’t touch—“

Too late.

The True Alpha bowled into Derek’s legs like a ball and both shifters ended up on the ground in a tangle of arms and legs.

Derek spit a leaf out of his mouth. “Don’t touch him, I was going to say.”

Scott’s expression was sheepish. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. Ha. Maybe Derek had hit his head a little too hard.

“Don’t touch Stiles. Yeah, got it,” Scott mumbled as he climbed to his feet. He put his hand out and gave Derek a tug, bringing him to his feet, too.

Deaton appeared from out of the trees. “That’s an interesting development,” he murmured, scanning the area. “This was Peter I presume?” he said, indicating the burnt out area on the ground.

“I think so,” Derek replied. He wasn’t sure he trusted Deaton but the man was probably their best shot at getting Stiles the medical help he needed.

“Derek, could you please pick Stiles up?” Deaton asked although it came up more like a command. “I think I have something back at the clinic to help him.”

Scott looked dubious. “Touching Stiles isn’t really a good idea right now.”

“That would be correct. You, or anyone else, touching Stiles would be interpreted as a threat but I believe Derek is Stiles’s supernatural guardian and the Nemeton will recognize his status,” the man explained gently to Scott, as though they were discussing the weather or something else of no import.

Derek straightened to his full height and stretched out the kinks in his body. “You _believe_ ,” he put special emphasis on that word, “the Nemeton will recognize me and not smite me, yep, that’s not worrying at all.”

A tight smile cracked the worry on Scott’s face at Derek’s quiet muttering.

Kneeling in front of the pale, unconscious teen, Derek reached out to gently stroke his cheek. He braced for impact but only a slight buzzing could be felt in his hand.

“Look!” Scott crowded in, tone excited.

A blue glow spread from Stiles’s cheek, down his neck and disappeared only to emerge from the left sleeve of the red hoodie.

Blinking his eyes, Derek watched, fascinated, as the gore of Stiles’s hand morphed and rearranged itself until it truly was a stump, as though amputated cleanly at the wrist by a surgeon.

Stiles moaned, his eyelashes fluttering against the curve of his cheeks until the amber of his pretty eyes was visible. “Derek?”

“I’m right here, Stiles,” Derek answered softly. “I think we should get you checked out. You’re not going to like it, but I’m going to carry you.”

“Checked out? Am I hurt?” Stiles shifted and straightened and his pretty eyes widened as his attention turned to his left hand. “Oh! My hand! It’s gone.”

“Does it hurt?” Scott prompted, his chin practically leaning on Derek’s shoulder.

“Ah, no, it doesn’t hurt.” Stiles answered as he pulled his arm away from the magical tree stump and cradled it to his chest. “Did we get the bad guy?”

“Not we, you. You took care of the bad guy,” Derek said.

“Okay then,” Stiles responded, staring at Derek expectantly.

With the softest touch possible, Derek slid an arm around Stiles’s back and the other beneath his knees. He rose to his feet slowly, gently, checking to make sure Stiles reclined comfortably in his perch. 

Stiles’s face stretched into a smile that reached his eyes. “I know this is going to sound crazy, but I feel better.”

Scott piped up. “Yeah, that does sound crazy. Let’s get you back to the Animal Clinic so Dr. Deaton can take a look at you.”

“You do know I’m a human, not a four legged animal, right?” Stiles grumbled, settling more firmly against Derek’s shoulder, throwing his uninjured arm around Derek’s neck.

Derek breathed in his scent. It was clean and healthy for the first time since Stiles showed up in Ventura. 

“Someone better call the sheriff,” Derek suggested.

Stiles groaned quietly. “I do not want to explain this to him.”

Derek agreed.

He was returning Stiles in worse condition than he’d been in before. So much for getting on Stiles’s dad’s good side.

Although why he would want to do that exactly, was a bit of a mystery.

Stiles nuzzled his head into the crook of Derek’s neck.

Oh.

That’s why. Derek might have a thing for the sheriff’s kid.

-TW-

Derek dozed in a chair next to the exam table where Stiles snoozed peacefully.

It was pretty amazing that the teen was recovering so well. He even seemed to be taking the injury, okay, amputated limb, in stride.

The sheriff hadn’t yelled at Derek; instead the lawman had clapped Derek on the shoulder and thanked him for bringing Stiles back safely.

The soft murmur of voices in the other room had Derek surfacing from his nap.

“My kid is a spark, whatever the hell that is, and that’s why the magical tree possessed him instead of Scott or Allison.” The sheriff’s tone was slow and measured but Derek could hear the undertone of threat in it.

Deaton ignored the threat, answering almost cheerfully. “Yes, Stiles is a spark so when he believes something can happen, and magic is involved, it will most likely happen. The Nemeton was most likely always going to key in on that energy.”

“So you’re saying you suspected the Nemeton was possessing Stiles to keep everyone safe and you thought Peter was the culprit all along?” Stiles’s father whispered furiously.

Derek sat up straight in his chair. He considered doing violence to the druid in the other room but before the thought had fully formed, Derek heard flesh meeting flesh.

“You don’t ever put my kid in jeopardy like that again, you hear me?” Sheriff Stilinski growled.

The voices became hushed and moved away from the room, Derek subsiding back into the chair more comfortably.

“So the good doctor knew more than he shared, what a surprise,” Stiles grumbled, turning on to his side. He cradled his left arm to his chest but he didn’t wince, groan or even complain about the missing hand.

Derek gave a bark of laughter. “Well I think your dad might’ve given him a lesson about not sharing with the class.”

“So it was crazy Peter killing those hikers. He was, what, sacrificing them to the Nemeton so he could get stronger?”

The memory of red eyes pulsing at him came to Derek. “Yeah, and he was strong.” _Too strong._ “If you hadn’t,” Derek gulped, overcome with emotion, “incinerated him then I’m not sure anyone would still be standing.”

“Huh. So I’m a bad-ass?” Stiles crowed.

Rolling his eyes, Derek grinned at the teen. “Yeah, with a little help from your local magical tree stump.”

“Yeah, that’s just totally weird, even for Beacon Hills,” Stiles acknowledged.

Silence stretched out between the two males but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was amazing how well they seemed to fit together, at least Derek’s wolf was pleased. Derek still wasn’t sure how he felt about being tied to the teen. Stiles was, after all, a _teen._

It wasn’t a surprise when Stiles interrupted the tranquility. “So, uh, is it my imagination or does there seem to be some sort of connection between us?”

Bright color flooded Stiles’s face. The blush made the already attractive young man that much more attractive. 

Derek remembered Deaton’s theory that he was Stiles’s guardian. Make that _Supernatural Guardian._

“No, it’s not your imagination. Deaton thinks I’m your _guardian,_ ” Derek threw up air quotes around the word.

Stiles levered himself into a sitting position, his legs long legs dangling over the side of the exam table. His nose crinkled adorably. “But my dad is my guardian. So you’re my wolfy guardian?”

“Ugh. Please don’t ever call me that again,” Derek requested. “No, I think I’m meant to keep you safe, guard you from danger.”

“But I’m a bad-ass!” Stiles interjected.

“Even bad-asses need help from time to time,” Derek reminded him.

“What if I want you to be something other than my guardian?” Stiles asked shyly, his eyelashes shielding his eyes from Derek’s gaze.

Chemo signals flooded Derek’s olfactory system. Excitement. Arousal. Trepidation.

“I think that can be arranged,” Derek rose to his feet and leaned over, brushing his lips against Stiles’s. When Stiles leaned in for a deeper kiss, Derek carefully touched his right shoulder, holding them apart. “But not until you’re legal.”

“But!” Stiles yelped, gathering himself for some sort of argument.

Derek had to shut him down. He gently pressed his index finger against Stiles’s pink lips, stilling his words. “Remember, I’m your supernatural guardian which means there are certain things I just can’t do—like things that might hurt you—and that’s the way it’s got to be.”

Derek wasn’t exactly sure how he knew that, but it felt right. His wolf grumbled but agreed.

Even Stiles saw the sense in Derek’s words. “Fine. But when I turn 18 I expect we’ll revisit this topic.”

Studying the teen—young man—before him, Derek nodded.

Stiles was ridiculously attractive and he looked and smelled healthy. Despite the missing hand.

Reaching out, Derek lightly clasped Stiles’s hand and drew it to his chest. “It’s a deal.”

 

Finis

**Author's Note:**

> That wraps up my prompt for Possession. I'm a little behind the pace I need to maintain--I've got ten stories completed out of twenty-five--but I still have my sights set on blackout bingo, baby.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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